


Thanking the Beast

by Deannie



Series: The Beast [2]
Category: The Real Ghostbusters
Genre: Extra sensory perception, Gen, Precognition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-02-07 15:02:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1903446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deannie/pseuds/Deannie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A shiver runs up my spine at the thought, and I vaguely remember <br/>the dream I nearly had time to have this morning. Something about Ray and Egon and... All I know is I suddenly don't want them to go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thanking the Beast

**_November 19, 1975_ **

I hate this.

It's the day before Thanksgiving--like that means dick shit--and I haven't slept through a night in a week. I mean, what the hell am I going to have to do? Climb into Daddy's bed in the middle of the night? Not having a dad anywhere nearby--ever--I somehow think Egon's probably going to take offense to that. How he fits just himself on that tiny bed of his...

'Course, even that's going to be a moot point pretty soon, because he's not going to be here, either.

See, he's got family to go to for Thanksgiving.

Not that he didn't invite me--just like he did Ray... But man, his dad just hates me! Can't figure out why. What world-famous scientist wouldn't want his way-too-brilliant son hanging out with a lazy--but oh so good looking--frat boy jock whose greatest ambition in life is to capture the campus-wide coed ping pong championship? And I'm going to make it this year--if Jenny actually stays with me past Christmas. Never had a great track record with cross semester romances, but hope springs eternal...

See? I got goals--they're hardly winning the Nobel Prize, but I got 'em. My life has purpose.

Stick that in your bunsen burner, Dr. Spengler.

So, while Ray and Egon are hanging at the Spengler compound with Renny the Chef's homemade pumpkin pie, little old Petey is going to be enjoying take out from Lan Wo's. Sesame Chicken isn't _quite_ roast turkey, but Mom was never any good at cooking the turkey anyway. When we could afford it... And there was only ever her and me to eat it anyway--Charlie sure wasn't coming home for Thanksgiving when we couldn't get him there for Christmas. And after this year, I guess there's just me...

Oh good, Venkman. That'll help. A little self pity with your side of wontons?

"Peter?"

Egon's bundled against the early morning snow, and Ray's standing behind him, bouncing. Kid's a fucking Tigger clone, I swear. The wonderful thing about Rays is Rays are wonderful things--

And the funny thing is, Ray _is_ a wonderful thing. I thought Egon was off his rocker when he let that sophomore trail him home from class--a class Egon was teaching, thank you very little. But Ray's been worth it. He needed a hell of a lot of work that first year--but then, who doesn't, right? Witness Peter Venkman--but he's sort of... Well, if Egon took speed and acid and read one too many Harlequin romances, he'd be Ray. Kid's a kick.

I'm gonna miss him.

A shiver runs up my spine at the thought, and I vaguely remember the dream I nearly had time to have this morning. Something about Ray and Egon and... All I know is I suddenly don't want them to go.

"Peter?"

Shit. Forgot all about that whole he-talks-then-I-talk thing. Gotta work on that.

"Hey Egon. You guys ready?" Of course they are. And they're taking Ray's Pacer. Talk about scary. "Set to brave cross country travel in a tin can?"

"Peter!" See, Ray needed work in the beginning, but he can get really irritated with me now. Took him a week just to say hi, way back when, but now he can sound more like Egon than Egon. "It's a good car!"

"If you don't happen to be 6 foot too many inches, Ray," I remind him, looking up at Egon with a wicked grin. I grab a suitcase in apology and lead them out to the curb.

And stop dead as I look at the sickly green car parked out front. Dinky--like Dopey Dog, only it's Dinky Dodge--isn't a bad car as cars go, and it's only just about what Ray could afford. The paint job's a mess and there are more dents and scratches in it than any three-year-old car should have, but Ray takes amazing care of the engine. Just because the guy who owned it first didn't bother with things like turn signals and personal space doesn't mean that Ray doesn't take care of that 3-hamster motor like it was his own son. Of course, the dings and dents are half his fault, too. Kid drives like a rat in a maze sometimes.

Again, I shiver. And it ain't the weather.

"So, Spengs, you gonna be able to fold into the driver's seat there?"

Egon looks at me, irritated by the new nickname. It just kind of came out of me last month, and I love to see him squirm when I use it. Spengler's not much for nicknames, as a rule.

But he hasn't clobbered me for it yet, has he?

"I'm sure that Ray is completely capable of driving his own car, Peter--"

"Have you driven with him?" I shoot back quickly. I don't want Ray to drive. I don't... I don't know why, but I _know_ him driving is just a bad idea. "Anyway, he was up too late last night saying goodbye to Shelly." I slide a sly look at our blushing senior. Ray with an honest-to-God girlfriend. Who'd've thunk it? "Maybe you should take the first leg--you know, let him rest up?"

I'm a great poker player. World-Class. There should be nothing--but _nothing_ \--in my face to give away the fact that, deep down, I'm terrified to let them go. Still, Egon gives me the strangest look, and I feel a terror of a different sort. I swear I never wanted anyone to know me as well as he does.

"Very well," he allows. I'm breathing again. Bonus in my book, let me tell you. "Ray? Are you sure you have everything?"

Ray bounds down the stairs with his suitcase, having missed half of the conversation Egon and I just had. Easy to do when we hardly use words anymore. "I'm sure, Egon. Gosh, you're like a mother hen sometimes!"

Ray's funny. See, my response would have been--and usually is--"What are you, my mother?" Ray...? After ten years of being an orphan, he doesn't think like that. After another nine years, maybe I won't, either...

"Peter, are you sure you won't come with us?" Egon hates this. He'll hate it again at Christmas, but I figure this is his chance to get used to it. Without Mom to be with, holidays are just days. I _had_ to be there for her, 'cause Charlie couldn't be bothered, but now...

Who cares?

"I'm sure, Spengs." Twist that knife, Pete. Maybe someday, he'll even _want_ you to call him that! "I've got a ton to catch up on... And I hear tell Dina Miller is staying on campus for the break."

"Peter." He does that so well. I wonder if normal guys pick that quelling tone up from their fathers? "I still do not think it's a good idea to try to engage in a romantic liason with one of the professors in your own department."

"Why not?" She's hot as anything! "We're both adults--hell, I'm not even an undergrad anymore."

"But she _will_ be called upon to read your dissertation."

Shit. You had to remind me. Oh well, I still have Jenny, right?

I clap him on the back, loading the suitcases into the hatchback and seeing him to the driver's seat. He's driving. Thank God he's driving. If Ray drives...

The shudder that runs through me _could_ be from the cold, but I think it's more the images that are filtering out at me from that damn dream...

"I wish you were coming with us, Peter." I wish it too, Ray. No... No, I just wish you weren't going at all.

"Give me a call tomorrow, Kid," I tell him brightly. "Hell, I might even be here."

"If not, we'll be sure to call Professor Miller's house," Egon shoots back, a grin in his voice as he starts the car. How Ray manages to get that dinky little engine to sound like a six-cylinder...?

I pat the door softly, pushing away. And something almost desperate comes out of my mouth as I check to make sure they're both buckled in. The bright, cheerful tone is nothing like the fear that's gripping me as Egon prepares to drive away. "Make sure to keep those seat belts on, boys. Drive safe--and watch out for dump trucks."

Egon looks at me strangely. "Dump trucks, Peter?" he asks, putting the car in gear. "I should think dump trucks will be the least we should look out for in weather like this."

As he drives off, I hear my own words freezing in the winter air.

"That might be the only thing you _have_ to worry about, Spengs."

**********

Peter... concerns me sometimes.

It isn't just that he was so adamant about staying home this year, nor that this will be his first year without his mother--and that it is completely unlikely that his father will make an appearance. It isn't even that his latest bout of insomnia has lasted so long. He just seems... distracted. And worried.

Well, I suppose he _did_ have reason to worry that I might let Raymond drive in this weather. Our young friend is a danger when the roads are dry, much less when they are as snow-coated as they are today. For all the bother I gave him about Ray being able to drive himself, I doubt I would have the intestinal fortitude to allow that until we clear the city--and perhaps the next couple of states.

"Egon, are you sure Peter's going to be okay?"

Ray is looking quietly out the window, though the slight bounce of his seat is consistent with his level of excitement. I am glad he was able to come with me this year. His Aunt Lois's call last week, while painful for him, gave me a chance to suggest this outing. This will be his first Thanksgiving away from his one remaining family member in a number of years, but I... have very much wanted to introduce him to my mother. Circumstances have conspired to keep them from meeting face-to-face in the two years I have known this extraordinary young man--though she has heard about him often enough. She will probably love him even more than she loves, Peter--which could be quite a feat. And I had hoped that Peter would join us as well, but...

Perhaps the fireworks between him and my father might not have been as amusing as I thought. Peter can be... remarkably short-tempered while battling his beast.

"I believe Peter is seeking what he and his psychologist friends might call 'alone time,' Ray."

Ray snorts, drawing random lines through the condensation on the passenger window. "Peter can't have alone time, Egon," he tells me with an insight that, for some reason, I often forget he has. "He doesn't do alone." He turns to me, a plaintive look on his face. "I wish his dad would..." With a sigh, he turns away again.

"Yes," I whisper, directing my gaze back to the traffic before us. "I wish his dad would, too."

Charlie won't be here. I doubt Peter even has the slightest idea where his father is, much less how to get in touch with him. I had so hoped that Peter might enjoy this year's holidays--as much as he can, given his mother's death this spring--but he has turned on them with more of a vengeance than before. He has always told me he thinks the holidays tedious and banal--and I think he's even convinced himself it's true. But...

I cannot imagine what I would feel like if something happened to Mom and my father, and I... had to spend this time alone. Or chose to spend it alone, as Peter seems to be doing.

"Maybe I should go back," Ray says suddenly, as we finally make the push over the GW and head down the Turnpike. "I could cook a turkey and everything--"

"Raymond..." My soft answer causes him to stop, but I do not know how to explain what Peter feels. And the fact that I know what he feels at all makes this all the more difficult--as if I am betraying his trust. But he would never feel that way about my telling Raymond, surely...

"Holidays are much more a source of... difficulty... for Peter than they are for you and I." I believe Peter may be correct. I am developing a mastery for understatement in my old age. "He and his mother... usually had a hard time, and--"

"And his dad was never there." The almost flat tone causes me to look over at him sharply. His eyes are shuttered as he looks out the front windshield. "Why is he like that?"

I will assume, for simplicity's sake, that Ray is speaking of Charlie. The answer to that question in relation to Peter is a bit more than I can handle while trying to navigate icy highways. "He... I believe Charlie truly feels he is doing nothing wrong." And that is the saddest comment I can make of any human being. "He... is very fixated on his own needs, Raymond. And he assumes Peter is, as well."

"So he shouldn't have to bother to be there for Thanksgiving?" There is an anger in Ray's voice that I rarely hear. The last time was after the "note" my father sent me upon the successful defense of my parapsychology doctorate this summer. It read simply: "I am gratified that you have sated your penchant for the macabre, Egon. Please inform me when you recommence with your physics doctorate." He didn't bother to sign it, and certainly not "with love". Ray's response was... gratifying in its outrage. At least my friends--and perhaps my mother--realize that I must progress in _all_ of my interests to become the man I wish to be.

I wonder sometimes if Raymond's anger comes from the fact that he has no frame of reference. Yes, Peter's father is less than perfect, and my own is certainly less than supportive. But Ray's only memories of his own father are of the time before children and their parents grow apart. Had his parents lived, he would probably feel the same pressures we do, and would, perhaps, be less surprised by them.

"Peter and his mother have..." I trail off, the pain of Mrs. Venkman's passing tearing at me suddenly. "They were always aware of Charlie's faults, Ray. I think they did quite well on their own."

Ray is silent for a long moment. "But now he's all alone." The tragic note is more than I wish to contemplate right now.

"I discussed this with him, Raymond--at length, if you'll recall." And at volume, though in a fight between Peter and myself that goes without saying. "He did not wish to come, and it might have been worse for us to force him."

"Are you sure he didn't...?"

I nod. That is one thing I am sure of. Peter is much easier to read than he thinks. If he had simply been saying the words, I would certainly have known. "I'm sure, Ray." He sighs deeply, but his confusion is something he now means to keep to himself, and I allow him to. He and Peter have known each other for only a couple of years, and the three more I have invested in my best friend have given me a perspective that only time can bring.

Raymond will come to understand Peter's faults and problems as well as I have... given enough time.

********

Now, what was the point of that?

Seriously, who thought up the plot of _A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving_? I said it at Halloween, and I'll say it again-- _where_ are these kids' parents!? I mean, okay, Dad was never around, but damned if Mom was _ever_ going to let me go out to someone's house, all alone, at like--what, _eight years old_ \--and have a Thanksgiving dinner with them! And did anyone bother to tell Peppermint Patty's mom where the hell she was going, or did she just suddenly turn around and wonder where her daughter got to? Or did she just not care?

Mom would have cared.

I look around the dark apartment, and wonder if I remembered to buy anything to eat before the guys left. Maybe there's some frozen pizzas or something... I don't think I have the cash to order out--not if I'm going to get Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow.

They should be almost across Pennsylvania by now, and Egon's probably ready to kill the Kid. Ray _can't_ stop talking, as far as I can tell. I mean, me? I _can_ , I just don't. But I don't know if Ray can. It's like...

It's like he had to keep silent all those years in those foster homes, trying not to piss anybody off, and he's making up for lost time. God, I don't know if I could have done that--probably wouldn't have lasted a week in any of them. At least Mom was around, even if Charlie wasn't. If Charlie was the only thing between me and Child Services...?

I'm suddenly not hungry. God, I miss her.

Maybe that's why I can't sleep. I should be over there now, helping her clean up. Marsha, Mom's best friend in the world, would be there too, helping Mom cook up a storm. The pumpkin pie, she always cooked on Wednesday, along with the McCarry family dressing. She said it gave them both time to "mature." I think she just liked to have that time with Marsha. I'll have to call her tomorrow. She'll have all her kids over, and her husband Judah will be off for the day--given enough seniority, a New York police officer can always get off the important days...

See, and everyone thinks that! Like Thanksgiving is some huge, important rite of autumn for Americans everywhere. It's really just a day. Hell, it was made up in this century, for God's sake. Just something to give the labor force a day off.

Well, I'm taking it, then. Gonna sleep in just as late as I want--without Egon kicking me out of bed for classes...

He could do it, if he wanted to. And if I slept.

Actually, sleep sounds like a good idea, right now. I stretch out on the couch, watching some stupid special run across the TV, and close my eyes, letting the sound of stupid holiday cheer flow over me...

*********

> _White... Not even white, not really. More grey--sickly grey. Storm grey..._
> 
> _"Ray!" swerve-crash. slide... A dump truck's honk..._
> 
> _And blood, and blood, and blood--_

 

Okay! No more sleep for me!

I look up to see that only an hour has passed, and I can't seem to catch my breath. God, what a dream!

It's weird that I dream so much when I sleep so little. When I'm myself, I can go days without a dream, but when... what did Melissa call it, the Beast?--When the Beast has me, I dream... a lot.

And none of them are ever good.

This one is a little clearer than last night's, though. Clearer in a way that makes me want to scream.

But the guys are fine, right? I made sure Egon was driving. I'm sure he can navigate the icy streets of Ohio.

If he made it to Ohio.

It's nine-thirty. They should be there by now, right? I mean, even in this weather, it doesn't take that long to--

The phone's ring makes me jump, but it's probably just them, right? Egon's mother hen instinct kicking in to let me know they got there, so I don't worry.

"Hello."

"Peter? It's Mrs. Spengler--Egon's mom?"

Oh shit.

"Um, hi?" Okay, not the best opening gambit. "Did they get there all right?"

"Peter..." Don't say it. Oh, Chirst, Mrs. S, don't say it. "They're okay--they're in a hospital in Pennsylvania."

So, how is that okay?

"Apparently, there was an accident on the highway, and they didn't have a chance to get out of the way." She sounds calm, doesn't she? Not like Egon's wanna-scream-now calm, but really I'm-okay calm. "Ray's all right... Just a broken arm, but--"

"What's wrong with Egon?" If there's a but, Egon's got to be bad. She lied. He isn't all right at all, is he? "Do I need to get out there?"

From the silence over the line, my question really seems to bother her--like maybe she thinks I shouldn't _want_ to be there when he's hurt? How stupid is that?

"He's got a concussion, and a sprained wrist from trying to hold on to Ray, but they said he'd be all right." Concussion. Okay--been there, done that. That's not so bad. I realize I'm trying to reach over and snag my keys, which are well out of reach of the phone cord, and I force myself to relax.

"Where are they?" If I take off now... The weather's broken here, so I should make good time at least until I hit Pennsylvania. God, poor Ray. I bet he's losing it. Nothing like a replay of "How I Lost My Parents" to liven up your holidays. And if Egon's as out of it as I was with my two concussions, Ray's going to pretty much be all alone with the Spengler clan. Not something I'd wish on anyone.

"They're in Crasville--it's just past Pittsburgh. Peter..." She still can't figure me out. "We're leaving immediately--flying in--I'll be sure to call you as soon as we get there, and let you know--"

"It's okay," I tell her. "I'm on my way. I should be there by morning. Just..." Keep them there for me. Keep them safe. "Let Ray know I'll call Lois when she gets back, okay?"

"You really don't have to--"

"I'll be there by morning." God, why doesn't she see that I _have_ to be there? Doesn't she get it?

"Peter." Uh-oh. That's Egon's tone you're messing with, Mrs. S. Better use it well, or he'll brain you when you give it back. "I was going to say that you don't have to drive. I'll call and get you on the next available flight out of New York." She's silent for a moment. "I don't need all three of my college boys in the hospital."

Um...

Wow...

"Okay, Mrs. Spengler." She'd kill me if she knew I called her anything else--even in my head. "Um... thanks. I'll pay you back, I just--"

"Just make sure to get to La Guardia in one piece, Peter," she cuts in. "I'll leave word at the information desk for you."

God... She sounds just as determined as Mom ever did. Maybe all moms are like that, huh? Capable and caring and... And I'm not even her kid.

Not that Mom wasn't just as protective of Egon as she was of me... She'd kill me if I didn't go, huh?

Like I was ever planning on _not_ going.

************

Egon's going to be okay. He's going to be fine.

Gosh, he _is_ going to be fine, right?

A nurse came in a while ago, when they were setting my arm. She said Egon had a card in his wallet saying to call his mom in case of emergency. I've got one, too, but Aunt Lois is in New Mexico, and I don't know her friend's number there.

I swing off the mattress. I have to call Peter--

But maybe I should just lie down again for a minute--at least until the room stops spinning.

"Mr. Stantz, you need to take it easy." The nurse is back, and she's helping me onto the gurney. Wow, I really hate being this dizzy.

"How's Egon?"

She smiles, and I relax--a little bit. "He's coming around, slowly." She squeezes my arm as she pulls the covers back over me. Who knew they... stripped you... when they brought you into the hospital? I don't think I ever passed out, not really, but I kind of "came to" wearing nothing--with all these people in the room! At least they got me a gown to wear now, even if it shows off things I don't think anyone should be seeing. Well, Shelly doesn't mind so much, but... I don't remember them stripping Peter in New York...

He had a concussion too, I remember, but it wasn't like Egon's. Peter was confused, but, gosh, there's a whole hour every morning when _he_ doesn't make any sense. But Egon? Egon always makes sense, and hearing him mutter about having to check on his molds and where were his notes and couldn't we come up with a classification structure for ghosts...?

I'm really scared he's not going to be okay.

"He was asking for you," she offers quietly. Oh wow, that's great! I try to get up again, and this time, at least I stay standing when my feet hit the floor. She looks me up and down, though, and I don't think she thinks I'm going to stay that way. "Why don't you stay here while I get you a wheelchair, okay?"

I nod, and it doesn't even really hurt much this time. I didn't get knocked out or anything, but I think I'm going to have a pretty big bruise on my forehead. But not as big as Egon's...

Wow, I was scared. That dump truck swerved right in front of us, and there was just nowhere to go! The doctor told me it was a pile up, and there were a bunch of cars ahead of us--I guess we couldn't see them in the snow. I think that dump truck stopped this from being... being really bad for us.

But it was kind of like Mom and Dad, and... And I really need to see Egon.

"I told you to sit!" The nurse is pushing a wheelchair toward me as I stand swaying next to the bed.

"You told me to stay here." Gosh, I spend too much time around Peter. That's something _he_ would say! "I have to call my friend--in New York." Peter's going to be worried if we don't call tomorrow. "Can I use a phone?"

She considers it as I sit down. Wow. Sitting, I feel a lot better. If only my arm didn't hurt so much.

"Why don't we go see your friend, and I'll let you make your call afterward, okay?"

Yeah, Peter will worry, but I bet Egon will, too. He kept coming back to asking if I was all right, while we were waiting for the ambulance. Right before he'd start talking about molds again.

"Are you sure he's okay?" He didn't look very okay--not when they wheeled him away from me. "He... he wasn't making very much sense..."

"Well he is now," she assures me. There's something in her voice I think I can trust. And anyway, she's taking me to him, so I can see for myself in a minute. "He's been worried about you, though."

Why? Gosh, I've just got a broken arm--I've done that before. One of my foster brothers was... kind of rough, and I spent six weeks in a cast. But it's not like it hurts much after they set it.

Not _much_ , anyway.

"Raymond?"

Egon's lying almost flat, but he turns his head to me, and the little smile on his face has me grinning back. He's really okay!

"Egon! Gosh I was worried!"

He's giving me the kind of look he gives Peter sometimes, like he's trying to figure out if I'm lying about something. "Are you all right?"

Oh. I get it. He can see I'm okay, physically--he just wants to know if I'm... okay.

"Yeah, Egon, I'm okay." I reach out and squeeze his hand carefully. "I'm okay, now."

And I am. Sure, it all kind of brought back Mom and Dad, but as long as we're both okay...

"Peter and my parents are on their way."

I look up from the IV in his arm. "Peter? How did he know? I wanted to call him, but they... they said you needed to see me, so I didn't get a chance to." I shut up quick as Egon closes his eyes. I'm probably giving him a headache.

"My mother called him, Ray." He takes a deep breath, and I wonder why they haven't given him anything to take the pain away. He's in a lot of it, I can tell. "She and Father are going to meet him in Pittsburgh and drive in."

"He's flying?" Wow, that must have cost him everything he's saved for that new car he wanted!

"I assume so." He frowns and I think that makes his head hurt even more. "The nurse simply gave me the message." His eyes slide shut again. I should go--he needs to rest--but I don't... really want to be alone right now. Not here. Hospitals are kind of... hard.

He sighs, and the splinted hand he brings up to his forehead decides me. He needs it quiet in here, and I'll only make his head hurt worse. My foster mom always said I could give anyone a headache.

"Do you... Do you want me to go so you can get some rest?"

His eyes open again, and he's looking at me like I said something wrong--or something crazy. "Of course not, Raymond." His hand rubs at his temple for a minute. I don't understand why they haven't given him painkillers or something, though maybe you're not supposed to with head wounds. "I... believe I would like to sleep--if only to rid myself of this damn headache, but..." He reaches out to me with his good hand, and I grip it carefully. "I would like you to stay here with me while I do so."

I feel warm all the way down to my toes as he smiles at me. Gosh, growing up, I figured I'd never have friends like Egon and Peter. And now I don't know what I'd do without them.

"I'm so glad you're okay, Egon."

He squeezes my hand as his eyes close. He's already falling asleep again.

"I'm glad Peter warned us about the dump truck," he whispers dreamily.

*********

Dr. Spengler is not happy to see me. Not happy at all. And you know what? I couldn't care less.

Mrs. S., though, reaches out to shake my hand and her smile is warm and welcoming. "Peter. I'm so glad I could get you a quick flight." She looks at her husband with a mixture of love and irritation that I don't think Mom could ever work up to with Charlie. "Some of us were getting tired of waiting."

Yeah, well, why the hell would he want to wait for me, anyway?

"Thanks for... thanks for doing this, Mrs. Spengler." I saw how much that ticket cost. Guess I'll have to live with that old beater of mine for a couple more years. "I'll pay you back--"

"Nonsense!" What? That's five-hundred dollars you're talking about! I know you guys are rich, but... "I couldn't have you sitting in New York worrying about them."

"I would have made it here by tomorrow, Mrs. Spengler," I remind her.

"And I wouldn't have you out on the roads, either." Okay, fine. I know a patented Mom-ends-the-discussion tone when I hear it. "Now, we have a rental car waiting outside. The roads have improved significantly in the last few hours, so we should make good time to the hospital."

The last few hours. Boy, I wouldn't relive _those_ for all the sports cars in the world. The flight had to be the worst. I couldn't stop thinking about the guys... and blood and blood and blood--

"Have you had a chance to talk to either of them?" I don't know why she would--I doubt they'd let her talk to Egon, if he's even making sense yet. But I have to say something to block the freeze ray Egon's dad is sending my way.

"No, dear." Dear. Mom used to call me dear. I wish she was here right now--could really use a pep talk. "We only got in ourselves about twenty minutes ago." She looks at me like Mom used to--sizing up my mental state. "The hospital assured me that they'd be all right, Peter. Please don't worry."

Don't worry, she says. Like I hopped on a plane ten minutes after her call because I'm _not_ worried!

 

The car ride was fun--kind of like a root canal without the laughing gas. Egon's dad is even stiffer than Egon was when I first met him, and he just does _not_ want me here. Mrs. S. was as chatty and pleasant as always, but now that we're actually at the hospital, I can see her getting nervous. It takes a minute to find someone to tell us where to go, and the ride up in the elevator is nerve-wracking.

But somehow, everything's okay when we open up the door to Egon's room and see Ray sitting in a wheelchair next to the bed. He gets up--he isn't wobbling or anything--and heads toward me with a smile and a finger to his lips.

"He's been sleeping for a while," he whispers. "They had to wake him an hour ago to do those checks we had to do for you--remember?--so he's okay. They just said he needs lots of rest--which is probably kind of hard to do when they keep waking him up every couple of hours." Ah, all's damn near right with my world when Ray's prattling on like a ten-year-old.

"Raymond?" Mrs. S. comes forward, giving a long glance at her son before turning and offering Ray her hand. He takes it awkwardly in his left one, squeezing it shyly. "I had hoped to meet you under better circumstances."

Uh-oh. Just the wrong thing to say to Guilt Boy. Ray's smile falls away, and he looks into her eyes earnestly. "There wasn't anything we could do to stop it, Mrs. Spengler, honest! The accident just came out of nowhere, and this big dump truck swerved in front of us, and Egon couldn't--"

Dump truck?

_Drive safe--and watch out for dump trucks._

Shit.

"Ray, I know it wasn't anyone's fault." She smiles so warmly, he's blushing. Now if only Egon would wake up...

"He looks..." Egon's dad is standing by the bed, and I take a minute to look my best friend over. Egon's got a goose egg growing under a bandage on his head, and his left arm is in a splint from his fingers to his elbow... but his color's good. He's not storm grey or anything...

Storm grey?

His dad doesn't finish his sentence, but Mrs. S. moves over to stand beside him, and she sighs, reaching down to comb Egon's forelock out of his eyes. He should really cut that--I don't know why he's trying to grow his hair out, anyway. The crewcut was a little severe, but it kept him looking like a scientist. I bet his dad hates the new 'do.

I grin suddenly. I bet that's why Egon's growing it.

"Come on, Ray," I whisper, taking him by his good arm. "Let's let them stand there and gawk at Sleeping Beauty for a minute." Dr. Spengler (he doesn't even _rate_ a nickname) glares over at me, but I'm not too concerned about what he thinks of me. I know what Egon thinks, and that's pretty much all that matters. "Why don't we get something to eat?"

********

I believe... perhaps... I might live. The pounding in my skull has dropped to a dull roll of thunder, and I can feel the painkillers they finally deigned to give me wrapping my senses in a pleasant cotton.

"Egon?"

I turn toward the voice, my eyes resisting the attempt to open. I force them, and Mom is standing in the dim light, her concern radiating as clearly as the pain in my head.

"How are you feeling, dear?"

A loaded question, one I hardly feel up to answering--certainly not when my father slides into my frame of vision from behind her. Still, I must give them some response.

"I feel fine, Mom." It is a lie she sees through with ease, and her soothing hand on my forehead brushes at my hair in a most comforting manner.

"I hope you realize now why I wished you to fly, son."

I do love my father... But sometimes, liking him is exceedingly difficult. "Perhaps if the plane I was on were to crash, you would rather I'd've driven."

"Egon." I have never had to wonder, as Peter has done in the past, where I acquired that particular tone of voice.

"I apologize, Mother," I return quietly, my eyes closing again. I hope I didn't give Peter a hard time when he was suffering from that concussion last year. I have a very good idea of exactly how much pain he must have been in. "I am... not feeling well."

"You should rest, dear." Yes, well, I can hardly sleep with you two hovering over me, can I? You have come all this way, and I doubt it was to hear me snore.

Though perhaps, for Mom, that might be enough.

"I am..." A deep breath clears my mind for a moment. "I'm sorry I ruined dinner. I'm sure Renny will be quite put out." Our cook is something of a prima donna--but he does make an amazing pumpkin pie.

"Renny will be fine, son, trust me." It's good to see her smiling--a genuine smile that means she has put some of her fears to rest. "Besides, now I have all of you for Thanksgiving."

The thought of food is enough to make me queasy, but her emphasis on "all" brings a thought to my aching mind. "Is Peter here, then?" I ignore the snort my father lets out. "I... think the nurse mentioned that he was coming?" I also think I told Ray as much, but I remember little of the last few hours, so...

"He's here, darling. He and Ray went to the cafeteria, I believe." Her smile softens. Ah... She's taken with Ray already. "Ray was... very apologetic."

I grin, the movement pulling at the tight skin around my temple. "He wasn't driving, but he is always apologetic."

"So I gather." She squeezes my hand gently, and my father reaches past her to grip my forearm for a moment. He must have been very frightened to feel the need for that.

"I will be fine, you know?" Mom nods, but my father simply sniffs. Ah well... If that is the most that I can get...

"...call CPS on the woman..." What on earth is Peter talking about? He pushes open the door as he speaks, ushering Ray in before him. "Charlie Brown just gives parents a bad name, in my book."

Oh yes, the Charlie Brown rant. I seem to recall him saying something similar when Ray subjected us to _It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown._

"I believe the cartoon is meant to focus on children to the exclusion of parents for the express purpose of innumerating their specific plight, Peter." Though I too have to wonder what kind of parent allows his six-year-old son to stay in a pumpkin patch all night.

Peter's eyes fix on me, and the light that shines from them is... warming.

"Gets hit on the noggin, and _still_ uses ten dollar words!" He pats Ray gently on the back, mindful of his injuries. "And you guys say _I_ have a hard head."

"It's not so much a hard head as a larger brain capacity, Peter," I remind him. "My mental faculties are simply able to withstand more punishment than yours." Mom is watching our byplay fondly, though Father is, predictably, frowning. He was never one for levity... How he ended up with a woman like my mother, I shall never know.

"Or else you make a smaller target."

Ray's shoulders slump in relief as Peter gains the upper hand--albeit briefly. However Peter managed to get here, I believe that his presence is exactly what Ray needed. We two cannot help but banter, and that alone must be adequate proof of my well-being.

"We need to find a hotel, son." My father doesn't reach out to me again, though Mom does squeeze my hand one more time. "We'll be back soon."

"Peter?" As Mom turns to Peter, my father hurries out. It seems he cannot wait to be out of their sight. "Do you and Ray want to share a room tonight--They aren't keeping you over, are they Ray?"

Ray's blush is enough to make me risk more pain with a true, full smile. "No... I just figured I'd--"

My mother railroads him as only she can. "You and Peter stay here and keep Spookums company while his father and I find us some rooms." She smiles brightly at Peter, and I see a shadow in his eyes. I wonder if she reminds him...

"Peter, I really am very glad you could be here. I know... this year must be difficult."

He looks at me, and more storm clouds build in those green mirrors. "It has been, Mrs. Spengler..." He grins slightly as I catch his eye and emerald skies abruptly clear. "But I think it just got easier."

********

"Egon's mom's great, isn't she?"

"Yeah, Ray." I smile tiredly, slinging my hastily-packed knapsack onto the bed in front of me.

"His dad's..." He trails off, and I look up to find a strangely hard look on his face. Doesn't suit him, but I've seen it before--on my birthday, when Charlie didn't call. "Pretty much what I expected, I guess."

"He's a scientist, Ray," I remind him gently. "It kind of comes with the territory."

He sniffs sadly, looking at the suitcase by his bed. I wonder if he can sling it up there one-handed? " _Egon's_ a scientist."

Ray Stantz--biggest heart in the universe.

I can't believe I almost lost...

"Let me get that for you, Ray." I drop the suitcase on the chest at the end of his bed, and unzip it for him. "You're going to have fun for the rest of the semester." He looked at me in confusion, and I gesture to his cast.

"No, it's fine. You can write again pretty soon. I was back to normal after a few days the last time--"

Now, as much as Ray talks, he doesn't talk about himself much. At least not about those six or seven years between the crash and college. And every time he catches himself doing it, he stops. Like it's something he won't remember.

"What happened?"

He shrugs. No big deal. "Having a lot of foster kids under one roof is... kind of hard to monitor."

Right. No big deal. Just a little brotherly love, huh?

"Egon's going to have a harder time." Good, Ray, try to throw me off the scent.

"He never needed to take notes anyway." And I always hated that. I had to work hard to make people think I was just doodling, and Egon just had to sit there and soak it all up.

Ray drops on to the bed suddenly, and I can almost feel it coming. Reaction time.

"I thought..." He slumps down further, and I sit next to him, an arm around his shoulder. Funny, I was never one for touching before I met this kid. "Peter, he just... _sat_ there." He shudders, and I can suddenly see an image from my nightmare. Egon, lying in the snow... and blood and blood and blood...

"I couldn't--I tried to wake him, but..." He takes a deep breath. "And then he _was_ awake, but he was--"

"Sort of vague?" I finish for him when he won't.

He nods, and the tears start. Always hated tears--but with Ray, I think they might be a necessity. "He couldn't... I kept trying to talk to him, waiting for the ambulance guys to get to us, and he was... it was like he didn't know I was there!"

"He knew, Ray." I know that for a fact. " _I_ knew--when I was so out of it last year? I knew everyone who was there..." I shrug, holding him a little tighter. "I just... couldn't quite get to them."

"It was just like--" He shuts up, devoting himself to the tears.

Yeah, Kid, I know what it was just like. But Egon's still alive. Cling to that.

I know I am.

He hiccups finally, and I know the storm is almost over. Just one more thing--

"I shouldn't have gone with him." Yep, there we go. Guiltfest '75. "If he'd just flown, like his dad wanted him to--"

"Ray... trust me, if you could see the future, I'd blame you, but--"

Oh God... If you could see the future...

"Peter?"

I shake my head. That's crazy, Venkman--been reading too many of your parapsych books. "Look, why don't you get some sleep, huh?" He's looking at me, worried about me. But hell, at least the guilt trip got derailed, right? "After all, tomorrow's Thanksgiving." I smile at him as I head for my knapsack. "Who knows what Mrs. S. has planned--probably fly in her own personal chef for the dinner."

He's still watching me, but the day's just caught up with him, and he barely looks like he has the energy to change for bed. As he works around his cast, I go to the bathroom to brush my teeth, looking at myself in the mirror for a second. I look like hell--no wonder Dr. Spengler glared at me--I'm a little too scruffy for a man like him to be seen with.

I wish I could sleep tonight, but I'm betting I won't. A little more weight for the bags under my eyes, that's all. A small price to pay for the two of them--a real small price.

Those dreams tug at me as I hear Ray sliding into bed in the main room. They... there _was_ a crash in them. And I _knew_ Ray shouldn't be driving... I knew it.

Come on, Petey, you went through this in undergrad. Remember all the ailments you and Melissa and Jimmy thought you had? Schizophrenia and MPS and manic depression? You're just focused on psychics cause you're studying psychics. That's all. And anyway, this was a pretty minor accident, all things considered. Nothing like the blood and ice in my dreams...

But then, I made _sure_ Egon drove...

"Hey Peter?" Ray's call brings me back into the main room, and I slide into bed in my shorts and t-shirt, reaching over to the lamp to turn it off.

"Yeah, Ray?"

"Isn't it weird that you made that crack about dump trucks, and there was a dump truck right in front of us?"

My hand freezes on the light switch for a second.

You're imagining things, Pete. Get over it.

"Yeah, Kid... Weird." I shut off the light. Now I'll never get to sleep.

"Night, Peter... I'm glad you're here."

"I'm glad you're here, too," I whisper, meaning every word. _If you could see the future..._

"Night."

And as much as I thought I'd never sleep, the exhaustion smashes me down, and I'm falling...

**********

"I thought you were kidding, Peter," I whisper out of the corner of my mouth.

He looks at me in wonder. "I thought I was, too."

Mrs. Spengler really did fly in her chef. All the way from Cleveland. Wow, they must be _so_ rich. I wonder why Egon never seems to have any money, then?

The table that takes up a whole wall of the hotel room is covered with Thanksgiving food: cranberry sauce and turkey and stuffing and gravy and even pumpkin pie! Aunt Lois doesn't make a very good pumpkin pie, but Egon was telling me that his mom's chef made the best there was.

Egon's looking so much better! They released him this afternoon, and we came back to the hotel, expecting that he and Peter and I would be sharing a room for tonight. Peter and I are going back to New York tomorrow, but Egon and his dad have been arguing all day about whether he'll go back with us or go on to Cleveland with them. I think his mom doesn't really mind one way or the other, but his dad...

I think he really loves him. A lot. And I think the accident kind of scared him... I just wish he'd _listen_ to Egon, sometimes. He's got all these things he really loves--all these things he wants to do, and it's like his dad is totally fixated on physics!

"Egon was like that, too, you know?"

I look at Peter, who's sitting on the bed, as far away from the door--and Dr. Spengler--as he can.

"What do you mean?" I ask, wondering if he read my mind, or just my face. "Like what?"

He shrugs, watching Egon. He's sitting in a chair, his mom right next to him, talking quietly with his dad. Funny, when he fights with Peter, he yells. When he fights with his dad, they almost whisper.

"Egon was the original lab rat, Ray." Peter smiles, remembering. "He always had that unnatural fascination with mold, but that was as far away from physics as he got." Now he looks proud of himself--not something I see on his face a lot. "Damn near took a crowbar for me to get him out of the hallowed halls of science."

"Why did you?" It's a question I've never really asked them. They seem really different, but you only have to spend a little time with them to realize that they're perfect complements. Like positive and negative nodes. Just... drawn to each other. Still, they had to have _met_ first.

"I don't know," he mused. I think he's kind of surprised I asked him in the first place. "I guess I met him in that parapsych class and figured... Hell, if he'd just open his eyes, he'd be great."

And he is. The words are written plain on his face. I bet there's more to the story, though, 'cause Egon can't have been _all_ stuffy when Peter met him. "Nobody changes that much in five years."

His gaze slides to me, and he's serious all of a sudden. "Five years is a lot, Ray. You'd be amazed what can happen."

"Well, gosh, Peter. What were _you_ like, back then?"

I meant it as a joke, but his eyes darken and I almost shiver at the look in them.

"Trust me, Kid. You don't want to know."

***********

"Peter. You're looking rested--for once."

Egon sits down, pulling his legs up to stretch out next to me on the king size bed. I'm rested all right. My crash this time took me totally by surprise, and Ray had to drag me out of bed at noon so we could go to the hospital and pick Egon up. He looks good--not scoring any points in the _GQ_ department with that bandage on his head, but...

Well, it's a hell of a lot better than the alternative.

"Slept like a baby, Spengs." He's hardly even twitching at it now. Bet he kind of likes the nickname.

Either that, or he's too tired to notice it.

"Looks like you could use a few more hours, though."

He sighs. "Father is... rarely easy to talk to."

Boy is _that_ being kind! He's been fighting with him off and on all day. I push back and put my hands behind my head. "So, when are they letting you go?"

"I believe our flight leaves tomorrow at three, yes?"

I know I didn't hear him right. "You're coming home with us?"

He smiles, and repeats "home" like it's a new word for him. I didn't mean it that way, I just meant... No. I _did_ mean it that way. I'm just surprised _he_ did.

"Ray and I were planning on leaving tomorrow to drive back, anyway," he explains reasonably. "They wouldn't have seen much more of me as it was."

"That was before you totaled Ray's car," I remind him.

Ah shit. Why'd I go and say that?

"Come on, Egon, you know it's not your fault."

"No," he agrees easily, looking over at me with a little too much intensity. "It was a dump truck, actually." He looks away before I have to scream, and scans the ceiling thoughtfully. "It appears you were right to warn me about them."

"Spengler..." Don't start with this, Egon. I had enough of it in undergrad! "I told you before--"

"You're not psychic," he parrots back. Damn him. "So what are you then, Peter? Insanely lucky?"

I look over at Ray, who's hanging on Mrs. S.'s every word, then back at my best friend in the world. Both of them alive, and on the way back to well. Insanely lucky, huh...?

"Yeah, Egon. I think I'm exactly that."

* * *  
The End

FANDOM: Real Ghostbusters  
RATING: PG  
ORIENTATION: Gen 


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